


Found At Last

by Merbear0501



Category: Supernatural, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angels, Betrayal, Canon Divergence, Everyone Is Alive, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Bad At Tagging, Post 3a, Prophecy, Sheriff's name is Tom, Slow Burn Lydia Martin/Stiles Stilinski, Spark!Stiles, Torture, Using Supernatural's angel descrptions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-08
Updated: 2016-02-08
Packaged: 2018-05-19 07:21:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5958649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merbear0501/pseuds/Merbear0501
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ever since Claudia fled with The Chosen One, Heaven has been ruled of evil. For 16 years, The Chosen One has lived in Beacon Hills, unaware of who he really is. So what happens when an angel stumbles in front of his car, hurt and exhausted, mumbling about having to find the Savior. Once the Savior learns the truth, how will he handle learning that his destiny is to free Heaven from evil's reign?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Found At Last

**Author's Note:**

> So, I just want my readers to know that, if you are Christian or believe in God, do not hate on this fic. 
> 
> Yes, it includes Heaven and angels and other religiousy stuff, but that is one of the few ways I will follow religion. I plan on following basic backstories of angels, but I will add my own and diverge greatly from modern religion. 
> 
> There is also no God in this fic. Not like I won't include him, but like there is literally no God in this Heaven's universe. 
> 
> I understand if I offend anyone with how I diverge from Christianity, but I'm not going to apologize. I believe in religious freedom, even though I'm not religious myself. This is just a work of fiction. I get that I am probably going to piss some people off. How do I say " just deal with it", without sounding rude? This is not a religion centered story. It only includes religiousy stuff but not religion itself.
> 
> Sorry that this is a long note but I felt like I needed to explain before I started getting hate. On a more positive note, enjoy reading!

     The world is in chaos. Screams pierce the air. Dead bodies, friend and foe, litter the ground, all of whom are unrecognizable. Most of the buildings in this section of Heaven are completely flattened. The others, only empty shells of the former buildings still stood. This section used to be The World Market. It was known for its diversity. The souls from every corner of The Middle (what angels and souls call Earth) gathered to trade information of their lifes and cultures. Some people even brought traditional dishes to share with others. All that's left, is an empty food stall with its canvas roof on fire.

Explosions tear through the night, destroying buildings, and shaking the ground as Gabriel runs towards the back exit. He has finally had enough. He no longer cares what the Hell Regime would do to him, if they caught him. He is tired of watching his friends and family be slaughtered for wanting their olds lives back. For 16 miserable years, Heaven has been under the control of the Hell Regime. Every attempt, to take back what is rightfully theirs, was snuffed out before it even began. Gabriel is doing the one thing the enemy feared. He is going to Earth to find The Chosen One, who  is destined to rid them of this evil. He only knows two things: the name of the Chosen, and where he lives: Beacon Hills, California.

 

* * *

 

 

       It was the exact opposite in Beacon Hills, California. Unlike Heaven, which was riddled with chaos, Beacon Hills was peaceful. Well, as peaceful as a town filled with reoccuring supernatural occurrences, could be. Beacon Hills had only finished its last round with the supernatural, a few weeks ago. The McCall Pack and Company had been terrorized with BOTH an Alpha Pack and a Darach. The latter of whom believed that human sacrifices were the way to go.

For now, the craziness has regressed to a mean. Unfortunately, it wouldn't last long.

It is a clear, crisp October night in Beacon Hills. If one was to look outside, they would see the sky riddled with stars, as well as a meteor shower. The clock has just struck 3AM, the devil's hour. For a town like Beacon Hills, the devil's hour is a terrible time. Bad luck and the supernatural are at the height of their power. Anything could happen, so naturally it did.

Most people are asleep at this time, but Stiles Stilinski is not most people. Only a few weeks previous, he, Scott McCall, and Allison Argent "sacrificed" themselves in order to save their parents, all of whom were going to be sacrifices themselves. At the time, they were only thinking about their parents and not the long term consequences. Apparently, being held down in an ice bath, dying, and being brought back, had adverse effects on the mind. They all had, metaphorically and somewhat literally, opened a doorway into their minds.

For the week following their sacrifice, all three struggled to keep their sanity. Scott had difficulties controlling his newfound True Alpha powers, though he was eventually able to control them, which closed his door. Allison was plagued with visions of her dead aunt and feared becoming like her. She also was able to close her door. Stiles, on the other hand, has yet to close his door. He lied to the pack, telling them he shut his door, when in all actuality, he didn't. He is still being plagued with nightmares, night terrors, and the occasional panic attack. In fact, that's where Stiles is right now. Another freakin' nightmare. Well, enough backstory, let's get to the good shit.

 

* * *

 

 

Screaming is how Stiles wakes up most nights. Screaming from the constant nightmares plaguing him. Stiles has just woken up, from the most recent nightmare, screaming and flailing. At the same time that he awakens, an unusually bright meteor streaks across the sky, which is then lost to the trees.

Stiles thrashes around on his bed, unware of the world around him. Which means he is unaware of feet pounding up the stairs and down the hallway. Unaware of his bedroom door bursting open. Unaware of two strong arms wrapping around him, pinning his own arms to his sides. Several minutes pass by, until Stiles is able to get back into control. The screaming turns to crying, the crying to hitching breaths, and the hitching breaths to normal breathing.

As reality comes back to him, he finally notices the arms around him, holding him. Confused, he looks behind him and sees a blurry face. After blinking several times, the face comes into focus. It's his father. He looks dead tired, worn out, and concerned. A sigh of relief escapes Stiles, as he relaxes against his dad, wiping away tears with the back of his hand. Stiles knows that no matter how terrible the nightmare was, his dad will always be there to snap him out of it.

"Hey, Dad," croaks Stiles. He had screamed himself hoarse. "When did you get home?"

"About a minute before you started screaming." 

Stiles winces. "Sorry. Some way to come home. Most people say 'Welcome home, insert person's name here!'. I say it by screaming at the top of my lungs, giving my old man a heart attack. Wait...heart attack is a bad choice. I make sure you eat healthy, and not bottomless curly fries and hamburgers, just so you never have one." He pauses, thinking. "Nope, I can't think of another word, cause my brain is still waking up, since it's-," he looks over at his alarm clock, and lets out a groan. "Ugh, why? Why so early? It's fucking 3:15 in the morning, on a Monday, no less. Mondays are terrible to begin with. Nobody likes-". He is cut off by his dad, who covered his mouth with his hand.

"You gonna let me speak?" He questions. Stiles shakes his head, but after a stern look, nods. Slowly, Tom releases Stiles, who leans his back against the wall, hugging his knees. Tom copies, leaving his legs straight, and sits on Stiles' left. "First, I'm not that old. Second, an occasional basket of curly fries won't kill me. And third, I'm worried about you, Stiles. That was the tenth time you've woken up screaming this month, and it's only October 8th. You told me, and the pack, that you closed the door." Tom looks at Stiles. Stiles tries so hard to hide the wince, but fails. Tom sighs, running a hand down his face. "But you didn't, did you?" Stiles' lack of response, answers his question. "Why'd you lie?"

They sit in silence, while Stiles figures out what to say. Several times, he opens his mouth, but closes it just as fast. Roughly ten minutes pass before Stiles speaks. "It's my burden to bear, Dad. Everyone else had their own problems. I didn't want to burden anyone with my problems. Also, I didn't want anyone to worry about me, but I clearly failed at that. It's hard being the only human in a pack of beautiful, sculpted, and ripped werewolves. It seems like all they ever do is protect me. I'm a burden. I can't defend myself, with any chance winning, against the supernatural. You can't kill someone with sarcasm."

"Stiles,- ". Tom places a hand on Stiles' shoulder, but he shrugs it off.

"Let me finish, Dad. I know I'm not the only human in the pack. Unlike me, Allison has been trained as a hunter, partically since she was born. Lydia, theoretically and technically, is a human, but has the Banshee in her. Plus, she could probably use her voice as a weapon, if she tried. And I'm just poor, skinny, defenseless Stiles, who has sarcasm as his only defense. Sometimes, I wish I was a supernatural creature, just so the others didn't have to protect me constantly."

Guilt clouds Tom's face as Stiles said this. Stiles narrows his eyes when he notices the guilt. "You know something, don't you?" He asks, accusingly. "You're keeping something from me. Spill."

"I'm not, I swear."

"You're lying. No matter, if you won't tell me, I'll figure it out myself."

Tom sighs, closing his eyes. Stiles will drive himself mad, trying to figure it out.  _God, I wish I could tell him, but Claudia forbade me._  

"You do that, kiddo. In the meantime, I'm gonna hit the hay," he says, avoiding Stiles' question, "Try to get some more sleep." He claps Stiles on the shoulder, squeezing.

"Yeah, not happening. Won't be able too. Besides, I've got sleuthing to do," he replys, the corner of his mouth twitching.

Tom stands up and walks to the door. Upon reaching the doorway, he pauses, hovering for a moment, before turning to face Stiles. Except Stiles is no longer on his bed. In the seconds that it took to reach the door, he's scrambled out of his bed, across the room to his desk, and is already browsing the public records. 

"Can I ask what it was about? Your nightmare?"

"You can, but it won't matter. Just the usual nightmare," Stiles replys, never looking away from the screen. That was a total lie.

"One more thing, promise me you'll tell the pack the truth tomorrow."

"Uh huh. Promise." Tom walks out of the room. If Stiles doesn't tell them tomorrow, then he will. 

 

* * *

 

He has found absolutley nothing on the Internet, by the time his alarm goes off, three hours later. Groaning, he stands up and stretches. His body protests in pain. One might think he would know by now, that sitting in a desk chair for three hours, would cause his body to seize up. Today's going to suck, especially since he's running on 4 hours of sleep. He trudges to his closet, hopping into his jeans as he goes. He pulls on a white shirt then throws a red plaid over that. Slipping on his shoes, he grabs his backpack and heads towards school in his trusty Jeep.

School is uneventful, like usual. So boring, it's not even worth explaining. The only eventful thing was when Stiles asked Scott to call a pack meeting for after school. Scott agreed, confused. It was for 4pm at Scott's house. Scott also said he'd inform the pack.

The bell rings, signaling the end of the day. He has an hour before the meeting. Thinking about what he might do during that hour, he walks out to the parking lot, and towards his Jeep. He avoided his locker since he didn't want to deal with the pack right now. 

Opening the driver door, he climbs in, throws his backpack in the back, and peels out of the parking lot. He just starts driving, not looking where he is going, lost in thought. He is unsure how the pack will react but it probably won't be pretty. 

He is so absorbed in his thoughts, that he almost misses the man stumbling in front of his Jeep. Stiles slams on the breaks, swerving around him. He stops the Jeeps, hops out, and runs towards the man. As Stiles approaches, he can feel immense power, the most he's ever felt, rolling off the man. It makes his skin tingle, causes the air to smell like ozone, and it also fills Stiles with nostalgia.  _Whoever, or whatever, this man is, he isn't human._

The man collapses as Stiles reaches him, barely giving him any time to catch him. "Whoa, man. Easy there." Stiles lowers him to the asphalt, getting a good look at him. He is in his mid-30s to early 40s at the latest with kind of a doofy face. His brown hair reaches roughly to his ears. Looks like he normally combs it back, but today, it's an absolute mess. His eyes flutter open, revealing intense golden-brown eyes, which are unfocused. They close once more. A slight dusting of brown covers his jawline and upper lip. The ladies might think that he's a relatively attractive man, if it weren't for the fact that he looks like he went through a blender. Small scratches pepper his face and hands, with a nasty and actively bleeding one over his left eye. His clothes are shredded and he isn't wearing shoes. There is a deep cut down his right arm and just above his left knee.

"Dude, what the hell happened to you?" Stiles asks, flabbergasted at the man's appearance.

He swallows several times, coating his throat. "Just that." Stiles clearly looks confused, because the man continues. "I literally went through Hell, " he deadpans.

"Okay, yeah, sure, whatever, man. I'm calling you an ambulance. They can deal with your craziness."

His eyes burst open, frantic, and stare directly at Stiles. "NO!!!" Startled, Stiles jumps at the exclamation, flailing a bit. "There's no time! They are right behind me! I have to find him! He's here, somwhere in Beacon Hills."

Collecting himself, Stiles says, "Hey, calm down, man. Who is it you're looking for? My friends are very good at finding people."

"Good. He needs to be found at once. He's in danger. They're coming to kill him." The man is muttering now, as exhaustion starts to seep in.

"Less blabbering, and more answering. Who is he?"

"The Chosen One. The Light. The One Who Vanquishs All Evil. I'm looking for The Savior of Heaven," he barely has time to mumble the last word, before exhaustion takes him, passing out in Stiles' arms.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!!! I have no idea how often I plan to update this story. I'll shoot for weekly but no promises. 
> 
> Chapter 2 is in the works now and shall be posted ASAP!
> 
> I hope you guys continue to read. Feel free to comment and offer suggestions! Please don't post hate about me changing around religion, once I get there.
> 
> Thanks! Ta ta for now.


End file.
